


Skin like Glass

by AnotherWorld3111



Series: Angels and Demons Verse [12]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Mob, Angst, BAMF Dean Winchester, BAMF Sam Winchester, Caretaker Sam Winchester, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Mob Leader Sam Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Worried Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 10:43:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17343854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherWorld3111/pseuds/AnotherWorld3111
Summary: The backstory to how Dean got his scars courtesy of Crowley's hellhounds.(Crowley had nothing to do with it, which he'd easily spill before Sam could get started with his form of 'interrogation').





	Skin like Glass

**Author's Note:**

> so this was a wip, and i finished it, and then k and i were like... why not make the smut its own piece? so instead of me getting rid of one wip, it just got replaced with another one and now im just sitting here like... ive made no progress on the wip front

Fucking hell hounds.

* * *

 

Dean had Crowley’s place memorized thoroughly. He’d never exactly been within it per se, but it was amazing what a lot of blue prints, technology, and scoping out could do for a man like Dean. 

Modesty wasn’t exactly one of his fortes, and he wouldn’t deny it. 

Either way. Relatively speaking, Dean knew from experience that by all means, it would be an easy grab and go. Hell, he could probably even have time to stop by that little diner that Sam was so fond of, get them both a little something to eat before Dean had to do his nightly disappearing ritual. He loved his mysterious vibes and would easily keep it up, and if that meant it gave him as much of a dramatic flair as it did for Sam, well, so be it. It was all good for his business anyhow. 

So with his plan in mind, Dean settled to wait for sunrise. Odd timing, he knew, but it made him all the better in his work. Others preferred to work in the dark, but daring to go in broad daylight? It also equaled all the less reason for Crowley to suspect someone to dare enter his territory at such a time. 

Chewing on his gum, Dean frowned when a silver jaguar approached Crowley’s gates. Scant few seconds passed before it was permitted entry, smoothly driving in. 

He had no idea what Lilith was doing here at Crowley’s of all places. Of all the uncountable or unforeseen variables Dean could have expected, this was nowhere on his list. He scowled, gritting the gum between his molars. Surely, coming back later  _ wouldn’t  _ hurt, but when else could he come without Michael’s interference? Not soon enough, and Dean was already here. 

Carefully spitting his gum into its wrapper, he tucked it away in a pocket. He wasn’t going to be as careless as leaving evidence lying around, no matter how well hidden his current position was. Dean snorted at the thought. That was a basic rookie’s mistake. And Dean was anything but a rookie. 

Slowly raising, Dean swung into position.

* * *

 

He should have waited, hell, come back another day even. But of all the fucking unexpectedness that seemed to be in Dean’s quota of the day, Lilith taking control of Crowley’s hellhounds was pushing the limit. 

Because there was no other reason for Crowley’s dogs to be on his tail. Not under Crowley’s commands, because he sure as hell couldn't be tipped off as easily, and not after making sure he was all friendly with the dogs, no matter how much dogs were so not Dean’s area as much as they were Sammy’s. 

So bringing back his focus to where Dean was practically running for his life, cursing the fact that shooting them dead was out of the question, Dean spared a moment or two to curse Lilith as well. How she’d done it, he didn’t have the time to figure out now. But either way, that slippery skank must have known something was off, and set Crowley’s hounds on him. 

“Loyalty is a fickle bitch, ain’t it,” Dean muttered, his breathing even despite jumping through branches and nimbly avoiding tree roots. 

If only Crowley wasn’t so fond of the damn dogs… 

Then Dean wouldn’t be jumped by Juliet right now, the traitor. Even as her claws dig into his flesh, he couldn’t blame the dog. 

But Lilith was so going to regret turning to another man’s dogs, that snake.

* * *

 

He stood at the balcony overlooking the ocean with a mimosa in his hand. The breeze gentle against his face, the chill slipping in under his overly large shades. A pigeon cooed softly from its place on the railing, only a hands length away from Sam. With the smell of fish clogging his nostrils, Sam would have laughed had someone assumed he was on a vacation. As if Sam could ever go on an actual vacation.

Although his job did come with perks, Sam mused. He took a sip of his mimosa, ignoring the pigeon that was eyeing him the entire time. Apart from said bird, an example would be his current location. Who’d have thought that such a relaxing place would be the kind of place a gangwar would occur?

Sam downed his mimosa in one go. He was tired of waiting for it to give him even the slightest of buzzes. Maybe he should hire a personal photographer. It would make standing at such places drinking fruity little cocktails a lot more worth it. 

Dean would have a field day with the pictures, that was for sure.

At the thought of what exactly Dean would do to those pictures, Sam inhaled, straightening his tie. Making sure his shirt was still tucked in neatly into his pants, the red rose in his pocket a stark contrast to his favored white suit, he let his fingers go a little further back. Casting one last glance at the waves lapping merrily at the shore, Sam lazily turned around, raised his hand, and pulled the trigger. The pigeon made a cooed, disgruntled as it flew away. As his could have been killer went down, Sam watched with bemused fascination as the man somehow managed to impale himself on his own blade. Shaking his head at Michael’s pitiful excuse of ‘Angelic soldiers,’ Sam stepped over the twitching body. Not even glancing at it, he squeezed his finger again, hand aiming behind him, right as he passed the body’s feet.

The twitching stopped by the time Sam was leaving the room.

Staring down what used to be a pristine white hallway with glass windows, Sam stared down with no small amount of disdain at Ruby’s mangled corpse at his doorway. While he wasn’t sad at all to see her dead, he still would have expected much more out of her after all the enthusiasm Azazel boasted with at her training and skill set.

Speaking of… Sam bent down, tucking a gun back into its holster as he traded it for her sharp blades. For all that she was the most skilled with her knives, she was still dead, and Sam didn’t mind getting down and dirty sometimes. Checking the edge of the blade, he nodded impressively at its sharpness, gleaming from under the blood. Well, at least Ruby got to use it in her defense. He started to straighten just as Azazel appeared at the end of the hallway. At the sight of Sam, his face underwent a series of changes before settling back to its usual impassiveness with only a hint of relief being allowed to slip through. As he jogged towards Sam, Sam found himself already walking down the hallway, the glass that had previously been the windows crunching under his shoes. Fancy, yet thick soled, thankfully. He didn’t care to see if they were any snipers waiting for him to walk into their line of vision. He wasn’t worried. 

And when Azazel’s eyes widened imperceptibly just as the familiar sensation of the hair on his skin stood, Sam turned around, raised his gun, balancing it atop the other hand gripping the blade, he only spared a fraction of a second to aim, and shot.

A couple of buildings away, the sniper fell backward at the force of the headshot blowing his brains out. 

Unable to resist, Sam smirked in victory before turning back to Azazel.

“What’s the report?” Sam asked, his face already wiped of any hints of emotion.

Azazel’s eyes drifted to Ruby’s body behind Sam before he focused on Sam again. He stood straight in attention.

“We’ve captured Metatron. But…”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “But what?” He demanded.

“Michael’s van is still at the front. We’re waiting on your command–”

Sam raised the hand holding his gun. Azazel immediately fell silent.

“Looks like the Archangel is demanding some attention.” Sam stretched his neck, the sound of his cricks popping loud in the otherwise silence that even the ocean seemed to be suddenly absent from. “Why don’t we go humor him?” For all that it sounded like a question, Azazel wasn’t stupid enough to think it a suggestion. And although it was visible that he longed to advise Sam otherwise, he kept his mouth shut.

Approving, Sam strode forward without any indication of what was going on in his mind. Azazel already falling in line with barely any pause, followed at Sam’s right and only a couple steps behind. They kept that formation until they had reached the lobby of the guesthouse, where they were joined by Jake Talley. His head of security was straightening up from his own kill, having beheaded one of Michael’s men with a cable. How the ceiling’s panel came loose in the first place for Jake to have ripped out the cables, Sam wasn’t sure. He’d been too busy relaxing upstairs while the majority of the fun had been occurring down here. Ignoring the slightly bloody trail Jake was leaving behind on the once immaculate marble tiles, Sam exited the building. The glassy remains of the door didn’t extend far. By the time Sam was coming to a halt in front of Michael’s van, there thankfully was no more sound of glass shards crunching accompanying every step he took. He couldn’t say the same about blood, though.

The van door slid opened. Michael stepped out. Dressed in a sharp blue suit of his own, Sam wondered if the man was so secure in the knowledge that he had many men to sacrifice that he didn’t bother arming himself. Then again, going by how vain Michael would be, he probably figured that whoever surpassed the pathetic handgun tucked under his waistband would go down when it came to a hand to hand combat.

Sam could have laughed at the thought. Michael was too sure of himself. Overestimation was going to be this one’s downfall, he knew. 

“Michael.” He greeted smoothly. “I wasn’t aware this particular face-off required our personal interaction.”

Michael shrugged, hands tucked in his pockets. “What can I say. I was missing your pretty face? I wanted to see how Lucifer’s job was working out for you?” Michael grinned, his white teeth glinting sharply. 

“Oh, haven’t you heard?” Sam retorted, just as mockingly jovial as Michael. “There’s talk going ‘round town.”

“Oh?” Michael played along, raising his eyebrows. “What, are they calling you the new Morningstar now?”

Sam grinned slowly, baring his teeth until he was practically snarling, smug. “Yes, that’s actually exactly what’s happening.” Michael faltered. Feeling his grin grow impossibly wider, Sam went on. “I’m sure you’ll get a firsthand taste of that yourself soon.”

Winking, Sam turned around, already walking away. He didn’t have to worry about turning his back on a weasel like Michael, especially with Azazel and Jake Talley keeping close on his heel. 

“You sound awfully confident.” Michael called.

Without stopping, Sam raised a hand, mockingly waving at Michael with one cutting motion. Still smiling, Sam tucked his gun and knife away. 

“Is Metatron detained?” He asked.

“Yes sir. We can begin the interrogation as soon as we touch base.” Jake replied promptly.

“Good.” Sam murmured, satisfaction rolling through him in waves.

As if sensing Sam’s cheeriness, the oceans crashed with a particularly larger ferocity against the stones to their side.

* * *

 

Walking into his bedroom that evening, the last thing Sam expected was the pigeon on his table. He wasn’t too surprised. And he sure as hell wasn’t disappointed, although the pigeon did look remarkably similar to the one that had been sitting on the balcony rail that morning…

Sam shook his head. He was so not going there, not when all pigeons were frigging carbon copies of each other. Instead, taking it for the sign that it was, he removed and slung his coat over the back of a chair, the pigeon staring at him impassively. With his facial muscles already loosening into its first genuine and affectionate smile of the day, Sam tugged at his tie as he turned around to his bed. 

And promptly came to a screeching halt. 

“Dean?” His brother was hidden in the shadows at the corner of his room. While there was most certainly nothing unusual about that, him slumping down so that he wasn’t actually hidden like normal as much as just bundled up out of eyesight?

That was not. Which was what propelled Sam forward, falling to his knees halfway there, sliding on the hardwood floor the rest of the way. “Dean? Dean, hey, hey, hey!” He got his arms around Dean just in time to help slowly lower his brother to the floor. Every since and hissed out exhale through clenched teeth tearing at Sam as well.

“What the hell happened?” He tried for anger at his brother getting himself hurt, for shock that Dean got hurt, hell, even toneless, the clinical concern that he’d long since trained himself to pick up before stepping in as the new Morningstar. None of that came out though, drowning instead in the fear that caused his voice to shake and crack. 

“Fucking hellhounds.” Dean muttered. And okay, his brother was talking, forming full fledged sentenced even. Sam could work with that. 

“Hellhounds?” Sam pressed, trying to keep his brother talking. He kept his eyes on where Dean’s hand was pressed firmly against his torso, however, as he gently eased Dean’s hand away to get a better look at the wound. 

“Yeah. Dunno how but Lilith managed to sic ‘em on me. Easy!” He hissed, as Sam tore away his shirt, letting the tattered remains drop carelessly to the ground. “I liked this shirt!”

“And you have a bunch that look just like this I’d bet,” Sam shot back easily. He faltered when he saw just how deep and long claw marks extended, marring his brother’s beautiful skin. “Jesus, Dean…” his voice faded away as his throat lost the ability to continue speaking. 

“Hey,” Dean caught Sam’s attention, smiling wryly. “‘Tis but a flesh wound, brother.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Shut up, jerk.” Hooking his arms under Dean’s armpits, he pulled his brother up, Dean swearing low under his breath.

“Bitch.” He moaned pitifully, but let Sam drag him over to the giant bed. The moment Sam was laying him down flat on it, Dean let out a groan. Sam watched with subdued awe as his brother slowly relaxed, muscles loosening. 

“Keep pressure on that,” Sam muttered, taking out a measly kerchief and pressing it to Dean’s hand. Nonetheless, he obliged. Dean’s eyes were opened to slits as he watched Sam walk around his room, fetching the first aid kit he had. He’d never had to use it on himself, so Sam was long starting to associate the kit with feelings of hatred and anger. At whoever was the cause of the wound, not the wounded. Rounding the bed again, Sam settled on its edge, folding one leg under him and letting the other dangle over the side of it. He just popped the first aid kit open, and paused to cast an apologetic glance at Dean. “This is gonna sting.” He lifted the alcohol bottle he held in one hand, gauze in another. 

Dean grimaced, shifting until he was a little more readily braced for the onslaught of pain. “Bring it, big boy.”

The bitchface, as Dean so fondly called it, was instinctive at this point. 

Holding the gauze tightly to the mouth of the bottle, he flipped it upside down before righting it again. Setting the bottle to the side, he carefully started wiping away the dried blood caking the edges of the gash. “I’m gonna fucking kill those mutts.”

“Hey!” Dean protested loudly, only to immediately hiss as the action pulled at his wound. Gritting his teeth, Sam pressed his hand flat on Dean’s chest, pinning him to the bed. “Those dogs are innocent. Lilith on the other hand…”

Sam shook his head. “Sometimes, I don’t get you at all…” he muttered. 

Dean raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “I thought you were the animal lover here? Since when did you decide to go all Hannibal on dogs?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Dean,” Sam said tightly. He traded the now bloody rag for the thread and needle. “Since they decided to use you as their chew toy?”

Dean grunted at the first poke of the needle, but settled soon. “Those dogs are innocent, man.” He repeated. “Leave them out of it, wasn’t like it was their fault. Lilith must have brainwashed them.”

Sam paused, sitting back slightly to look at Dean properly. “Since when did you become a dog person anyway?” He couldn’t help but ask.

Dean shrugged, careful not to jostle Sam’s work much. “Had to scout out Crowley’s place often.  Figured getting on the dogs’ good side would be easier than trying to figure out how to elude them as well.”

“Huh.” Sam said. A second later, he remembered the needle in his hand, and went back to stitching, trying to not pay much heed to Dean’s winces, subtle, yet still there. 

“Fine.” He mumbled to Dean’s skin. “But that means I want Lilith’s head on a platter.”

Dean chuckled, and though Sam threw him a glare for moving, he couldn’t say anything else to rebuke Dean moving. “Sure, little brother.” He murmured, finally getting used to the rhythm of the needle going in, out, and pulling his skin tight. “Knock yourself out, Sammy.” Dean’s eyes drifted closed as Sam’s meticulous hands finished up the final stitch. 

**Author's Note:**

> so anyway, y'all better leave some comments if you want me to get more of this out, be it smut or maybe something about Sam continuing on his path of revenge..  
> please? uwu  
> alsoitotallydontknowwhatthatmeanstbh


End file.
